Mrs. Fletcher(38)

“I hear what you’re saying. But you know who we’re dealing with. A lot of the seniors are set in their ways. They don’t like anything upsetting or unfamiliar. Trust me, they don’t want to hear about global warming.”

“I get it.” Amanda nodded ruefully and tossed back the last swallow of wine in her glass. “I didn’t mean to rock the boat.”

“It’s okay. That’s why I hired you. Sometimes the boat needs to be rocked a little.”

*

In the lesbian MILF videos that Eve liked best, there was only one basic scenario: a confident woman seduces a reluctant one. Many began with the reluctant woman grumpily washing dishes or mopping the floor when the doorbell rings. The visitor—the confident one—usually arrives with a bottle of wine, a sympathetic expression, and a bit of exposed cleavage. Cut to the two women on the couch, deep in conversation, usually sitting close together. Often their knees are touching.

It is so good to see you, the confident one says, stroking her friend’s thigh or upper arm in a comforting, arguably nonsexual way. But you look a little sad.

The reluctant one doesn’t deny it.

It’s been a rough day, she sighs.

Maybe she lost her job. Maybe her husband left her. Maybe the bank turned down her loan application. But whatever the problem might be, it’s nothing that can’t be solved by a backrub and some cunnilingus.

*

Eve relaxed a little once they relocated to the restaurant section. They hadn’t planned on eating, but they’d polished off the first two glasses of wine in under an hour, and neither of them wanted to drink a third on an empty stomach. It was only seven o’clock—way too early to call it a night—and a table happened to be available, so here they were.

“I love these potatoes,” Amanda said.

“Should we get another order?”

Amanda dabbed at her mouth with the stiff cloth napkin, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the white fabric.

“That’s very decadent of you.”

“I don’t get out much,” Eve explained. “Might as well take advantage.”

“You should’ve come to Foxwoods the other night,” Amanda teased. “I could’ve used the company.”

Eve grimaced. “Was it horrible?”

“It was actually okay,” Amanda said. “I just felt sorry for Frank Jr. It must be depressing, doing an impersonation of your dead father. At least Nancy got to wear go-go boots and sing some songs of her own.”

“She did look good in those boots,” Eve said. “But I really don’t think they were made for walking.”

She glanced around, trying to get a bead on their elusive waiter. Aside from the iffy service, Casa Enzo was as good as everyone said, a cozy tapas place—the first ever in Haddington—with a dozen tables packed into a room that wasn’t quite big enough to accommodate them. It was even louder here than at the bar, but at least Eve wasn’t experiencing the restlessness that often plagued her in restaurants, the nagging sense that she was marooned at one of the boring tables while the interesting conversations were happening elsewhere.

“We should do this more often,” Amanda said. “I’m usually just sitting home on the weekends, eating too much chocolate.”

Eve plucked an oily green olive from the bowl. “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

Amanda shook her head, more in resignation than sadness. “It’s kind of a romantic wasteland around here. There aren’t a lot of single people my age. At least I haven’t figured out where they’re hiding.”

Feeling a little self-conscious, Eve removed the olive pit from her mouth and placed it daintily on her plate. There were six of them now, lined up like bullets, with bits of stray flesh stuck to the surface.

“These things are addictive,” she said.

“What about you?” Amanda asked. “Are you involved with anyone?”

“Not even close. Haven’t had a date in six months. Haven’t had a good one in at least two years, and even that one wasn’t all that great.”

“Really?” Amanda seemed genuinely surprised. “How come? I mean, you’re a very attractive woman.”

“Thanks. That’s sweet of you.”

“I’m serious,” Amanda insisted. “I hope I look half as good as you when I’m your age.”

Eve forced herself to smile, hoping it would hide her irritation.

“Hey,” she said. “Did I tell you about the class I’m taking?”

*

Some of the videos Eve had stumbled upon skipped straight to the bedroom, two naked women already engaged in the usual licking and groping. She clicked out of them as soon as she realized her mistake. She needed to start at the beginning and observe the negotiation, to see how the small talk turned into flirting, to hear the magic words that got the reluctant one to accept the first kiss, or allow her blouse to be unbuttoned.

The really hot part was the epiphany, the moment when the reluctant one suddenly understands that she’s been seduced. All the good stuff happened then. The quickening of the breath. The parting of the lips. The silent granting of permission. The understanding that everything that came before had been leading inevitably to this: one mouth discovering another, a hand cupping a breast, knees spreading apart. The end of reluctance. When it was good, you could forget you were watching porn and accept it, if not as the truth, then at least as a glimpse of a better world than the one you lived in, a world where everyone secretly wanted the same thing, and no one failed to get it.